No Intention
by Gater101
Summary: Sherlock has a magic word that means John just can't say no.


Title: No Intention  
Summary: Sherlock2010. 'Am I going to have to say the magic word?'  
Characters: John, Sherlock, OMC-Marshall  
Pairing: None, really. But... well.  
Rating: PG

John sighed, scooped his mobile phone from his pocket and switched it off before he dropped it face down onto the table.

"Sorry about that," he murmured as he fiddled with his fork, the remains of his dinner long grown cold.

Across the table, Marshall smiled and shook his head. They'd met at one of the crime scenes Sherlock had crashed and bonded over their mutual awe at Sherlock's quick deductions and when the consulting detective had abandoned John (again), Marshall had offered his company for a quick bite to eat before dropping John back at Baker Street.

"It's quite all right. Am I keeping you from something?"

Since that night almost a month ago, John had had drinks with Marshall a few times and even now wasn't entirely sure of Marhsall's intentions. John had tried to keep it platonic – God, he'd had too many miscommunications on that matter already – and so far, it seemed to have been working but John's not entirely sure if that's because Marshall got the hint or if he isn't actually gay. If Sherlock's barely disguised amused smirk was anything to go by...

John shook his head.

"No. Just-"

"Excuse me," someone interrupted and when John turned, the waiter who had taken their order was standing over them. "John Watson?" John started and sat straighter in his chair, sharing a glance with Marshall who had pulled his brows into a frown. "There's a phone call for you."

Watson groaned and picked his mobile up, turning it back on before turning back to the waiter.

"Tell him-"

"He says it's urgent."

John took a breath and slowly let it out before planting his palms on the table and looking apologetically to Marshall.

"It's all right, John."

When the waiter had shown him to the small office in the back room, John sank into the ratty leather chair and glared at the phone for a long moment before he sighed and reached out to it.

"Sherl-"

"Sorry to intrude on your date-"

"It's not a date."

"Sure. That's what you said about us, too."

"That _wasn't _a date."

"Even so."

"'Even so', what, Sherlock?"

"Even so, I am merely making a point. And before you ask, yes I will elaborate. The point I'm making is about most people's aptitude for misunderstanding."

John sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, before covering them with his hand.

"And as you've said before you're not most people so you're aptitude for misunderstanding-"

"Is almost nonexistent, yes, I know. I have, however, had the privilege of observing our dear friend Marshall and I can assure you, that he has a _vast _aptitude for misunderstanding."

John didn't reply for a long moment, letting Sherlock bask in whatever version of smug pride he deemed appropriate for the moment before asking in a bland tone,

"What was so urgent that you had to interrupt my perfectly platonic dinner with our mutual acquaintance?"

On the other end of the line, Sherlock laughed and John had to stop himself from analysing it. It wasn't often that Sherlock laughed freely, in surprise; usually, such an outburst was full of sardonic humour at the _stupidity _of everyone who was not Sherlock Holmes. It wasn't the first time he'd drawn such startled, free laughter from Holmes but he was also aware of how rare the moment was.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade stopped by. He requires our help."

John raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"He requires _your _help, not ours and certainly not mine."

Sherlock sighed, the sound heavy and full of annoyance and John could imagine the way he would close his eyes and slightly shake his head as though to rid it of a cloud of anger.

"He asked for my insight into the case and you know that I think better when I talk out loud, so his pleas for help extend to you, also. Now-"

"Sherlock, I'm not going to-"

"Do I have to say the magic word?"

John clenched his teeth, releasing his breath in a slow exhalation.

"Sherlock."

"_Dangerous_." The word was almost a whisper, too intimate and laden with... with layers that John didn't intend to dissimilate but he couldn't stop the instant thrill that shot through him at the sound of it. "I'll meet you at Edgware Road underground station in say... twenty minutes?"

John sighed and hung up without answering, knowing that Sherlock would be chuckling in victory at the other end.

When he emerged from the office, finding that – annoyingly – he was limping, Marshall was already sitting at the table waiting to go, his scarf wrapped tight around his neck, his coat buttoned up to his collarbones.

"He's persistent, I will give him that."

John huffed out a laugh as he braced himself against the back of the chair, willing his body – his _mind _- to stop betraying him.

"He would need to be, to be as good as he is." He looked up then to Marshall's still smiling face and winced. "Sorry, I've got to-"

"I know." He stood as John shrugged into his jacket. "Just a shame this is my night off; I always enjoy seeing Sherlock in action." John simply smiled as he zipped his jacket up as they made their way out of the restaurant, dropping his share of the bill onto the table on the way. "Where are you meeting him?"

"Edgware underground."

"Opposite direction from me, I'm afraid." John smiled, suddenly feeling awkward, standing outside the restaurant saying goodbye. It felt like the end of an interrupted date and he winced slightly, cursing Sherlock. "I'll see you later, John." He moved in for the hug and John froze a moment before quickly slapping the other man on the back and pulling back quickly. Marshall laughed and slapped his bicep once before turning and hailing a cab.

John turned and began the short walk to Edgware, his mind replaying the sound of Sherlock's voice drawling over the vowels of the magic word.

That was something he had never, would never, will never write about in his blog.


End file.
